Where are the Splints?
by misscassietaylor
Summary: Sherlock asks for splints, but John is unfortunately oh so forgetful. Shameless smut with a very vague plotline. Rated M Reviews are appreciated. Much love.


John entered the flat, his arms full of groceries. The sound of crinkling plastic filled the room as John grunted his way to the hitchen to put away the shopping.

"John, did you get the splints?" Sherlock asked as he entered the room. He peeked into a bag hopefully before John swatted him away.

"I went to the _market_," John replied with exasperation as he opened the fridge, placing cartons of milk and juice in the door.

"Bart's was on the way_," _Sherlock muttered with a fown.

"I didn't get the splints."

Sherlock huffed and shuffled out of the room. He fell back onto his armchair with a deep flop and let his head fall back in a lazy slouch.

John admired Sherlock out of the corner of his eye as he put the last of the groceries away in the cabinet. Sherlock really was something else. He was more than a genius. He was more than a 'high-functioning sociopath.' He was brilliant, and that was the only way John knew how to describe him. Brilliant and...lovely.

John leaned in on the counter as he stared. He certainly paid special attention to the way the sunlight danced across his pale skin, making it seem to make it glow. The way the fabric of Sherlock's shirt would stretch across his full chest, threatening the buttons to pop at any moment. John bit his lip and shifted his legs as he felt the familiar tingle between his thighs.

Suddenly, Sherlock opened his eyes and jumped up, his gaze immediately on John. John's eyes widened a fraction before immediately boring down in to the counter, avoiding making eye-contact with the very person he was staring at. Sherlock stopped in his stride and narrowed his eyes at the man.

_Eyes wide and frantic: he's flustered. And by the blush, he's embarrassed about something. Maybe a thought? A memory? Most likely dull and boring. _

Sherlock rolled out his shoulders and strode over to the window where both his and John's laptops lay on the desk right near. Sherlock's eyes subtly dropped to John's computer, and with a quick glance to his friend's turned back, he opened the lid and woke the computerm watching the login screen illuminate.

Sherlock paused a moment, thinking. He lifted his fingers and typed one...two...three.._oh?_...four different codes and words until the costomized desktop flashed up. Sherlock inwardly scoffed at the picture. It was of himself and John with Sherlock standing further in the back. This was in the kitchen, and..come to think of it, Sherlock barely remembered the picture being taken.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" came John's miffed tone. When Sherlock looked up—slightly alarmed, he'd admit—John was standing with his shoulder against the wall, staring at Sherlock with his eyebrows to his hairline and his lips pressed to a thin line.

"Your background," Sherlock resolved to quickly, pointing at the screen. "When did you take that?" John rolled his eyes and pushed himself from the wall, walking over to Sherlock.

"Don't tell me you hacked my computer to look at my pictures," John said with a faint smile. Sherlock scoffed at this.

"Please John, it's hardly difficult to guess your passwords nowadays. You're running out of ideas, and using my birth date is hardly an excuse for one."

John's eyes dropped and a faint redness danced across his cheeks. He shuffled on his feet before lifting his chin in confidence and meeting his eyes with Sherlock's.

"It's easy to run out of ideas when you're always poking about in my stuff!" John retorted heatedly.

"My _birth date_, John," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes.

John kept his gaze on Sherlock before looking away and walking away towards the fireplace which had been cold and unlit for some time now. John stared down at the metal fence enclosing the fireplace. When he looked up, he was almost surprised to see his very face looking back at him. John shifted his glance and watched Sherlock who, to his surprise, was staring right in the mirror at John. It seemed like they were making eye contact via the mirror until John closed his eyes with a sigh.

"So what if it was your birthdate, Sherlock? It was _mine_ just last week." John countered as he spun around to meet Sherlock's physical gaze.

"It's _your_ laptop," Sherlock replied, his tone extremely calm.

"Actually, you know what? If you wouldn't just go into my laptop for the fun of it, I wouldn't _have_ to come up with new ideas!" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows at John's sudden raise in tone.

"John, I-" He started, but was immediately cut off by John.

"No, I don't want to hear it, Sherlock! It's true, and you know it's true." John finished, letting himself breath. "_Jesus,_" he breathed. Sherlock advanced towards John and stood mere inches from the other man. He reached out and touched John on the shoulder who turned to face him, his face flushed.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock stated with no more condolence than a rock. John simply huffed and looked up into Sherlock's face.

"Right, sure you are," John replied with a short and cynical laugh. A small frown decorated Sherlock's face and he looked simply lost in guilt, yet comepletely silent. John sighed, looked down, then bounced his vision back into the other's eyes. "Oh, you _twat,_" John said in a breath and placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's slim face and pressed their lips together. John could feel Sherlock's shoulders tense beneath his fingers and there was that one moment when his lips were dead against John's and all that went through the doctor's brain was _Oh God, what have I done._ And then there was movement. Sherlock's lips moved against John's and _oh_ it was beautiful.

Their lips stayed smashed together, gradually becoming more frantic. At the time that John began untucking Sherlock's shirt, pushing his warm and calloused hand against the soft flesh beneath, Sherlock broke the kiss.

"John, I'd perfer us be in a more comfortable...area," His voice vibrated deeply in John's ear. John grinned up at the other man before turning and pulling Sherlock from the living room.

The pair fell onto the bed in Sherlock's room with their lips locked together in a desperate hold. John rolled overtop of Sherlock and straddled the man's hips. John kissed hungrily at Sherlock's lips, and between kisses, he would let out small, high-pitched moans mixed with words that somewhat resembled the detective's name.

Sherlock's nimble yet careful fingers fiddled at the end of John's jumper, pulling it over his head and only breaking the kiss to do so. John did the same, unbottoning Sherlock's shirt and revealing that bounteous chest. The minute that the skin was revealed, John's lips were upon it, kissing, licking and nipping at it gently with his teeth. Sherlock let out a small groan when he felt the soft sensation vibrating through his skin and crawling to his member trapped in his trousers. John felt the pressure against his own groin and he sighed pleasureably.

"God, Sherlock," John said with a small grin as he wriggled his hips down to straddle the other man's knees. The friction against them made them both groan softly. John fiddled with the button on the dark trousers, and once they were loose, they were almost instantly off.

John stared down at the scene before him, admiring it with lust. He ran his fingers over the distinct outline and Sherlock's hips bucked right into John's hand.

"_John,_" Sherlock scolded through his teeth, his eyes falling shut with a squeeze. John simply smiled and pulled away the elastic, letting Sherlock's member spring out into his grasp. At the contact, Sherlock sighed forcefully and pressed himself against John, who grasped Sherlock's member with enthusiasm. With a soft whine from Sherlock's throat, John began to stroke the other man's length firmly, letting his hands apply pressure at the base and ease out towards the head, running his finger over the damp slit gingerly.

Sherlock's hips moved with the strokes, his breath quickening with each touch and brush. "Oh, _John_," Sherlock gasped softly. John noticed that Sherlock had flushed all the way to the neck, and it made him smirk.

"Beg," John breathed huskily, leaning forward and brushing a few passionate kisses on Sherlock's desperate and dried lips.

There was a bit of a pause before Sherlock opened his eyes and stared up at the doctor. "Please, John. _Please_." Sherlock bit his lip and it was John's turn to flush red. His grip became tighter and his pace quickened and Sherlock immediately responded with a violent buck and his body undulated under John. "Oh, God, John," Sherlock breathed desperately, John's name finalizing with a high-pitched moan. "I'm.."

John's grasp immediately lessened and his hand disappeared alltogether. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows in both confusion and frustration. He saw John shift off of Sherlock and plant his feet at the end of the bed, facing Sherlock. "Er.." John started softly, "Do you have..?" He asked, letting the rest of his sentence falter away.

"Of course not, John." Sherlock threw his head back, his breath still ragged. He jerked it back up, a though suddenly coming to his mind. "What are you implying?"

John laughed softly as he pulled away his trousers and pants, revealing himself to Sherlock for the first time. Sherlock's eyes drifted towards the other man's member, but quickly flicked back to John's eyes. John strode over to the nightstand with an almost superior air to his walk. He opened the drawer and drew out a tube of lubricant that had been gently used. He chuckled softly and then returned to his spot at the foot of the bed. Sherlock watched in almost-horror and he immediately turned the other way, fighting his body to heat up.

John popped the lid of the lubricant and smeared a healthy amount onto his member. He moistened his fingers as well and reached down, pushing his index finger into Sherlock. Sherlock let out a raspy moan and his body tensed at the intrusion. John's member twitched with want and he pressed in another finger, pressing it in to the length. He bent and twisted his fingers until he was confident with his work. Sherlock ground against John's hand as he repeatedly pressed himself into John, forcing John's fingers deeper and further.

John withdrew his hand briefly and he then began to stroke himself gently, smearing the thick layer of lubricant around evenly. He placed himself right before Sherlock and he looked up, getting a (vigorous) nod of approval from Sherlock. He nodded once and then pushed himself inside. Sherlock felt rather tight around John's member and it caused both men to groan loudly.

"_God, _Sherlock," John gasped with a sort of surprise. John started out slowly, but it quickly escalated into a quick and furious series of thrusts. There was one particular time when John had stumbled to the side and the result was a shriek from Sherlock. John was somewhat surprised, but once a simple "_Do it again,_" from him only encouraged him to continue from this angle.

Sherlock reached down and began to cup his own member in his hand. His breath only quickened from then on. John watched Sherlock's delicate hands as they treated himself. The image nearly sent John over and there was a sudden jerk in his member that he cried out.

"_Sherlock_," he said, almost warningly. "_Please,_ I..I'm..." and with that, Sherlock instead released himself with a low, loud moan. John cried out again and came inside of Sherlock, his knees becoming weak as soon as he did.

John fell over onto the bed, and crawled with the last of his efforts to the pillow beside Sherlock. Up close, the man looked absolutely spent. Sherlock's face was glistening and his hair stayed matted to his forhead. Both men breathed heavily and stayed silent for quite a bit before Sherlock rolled over, draping his arm over the doctor and closing his eyes.

"I suppose that could substitute the splints."


End file.
